The Vantage Point by Kneeling Icon Sharon was putting away her laundry when
she heard Stan come home. Rather, she reminded herself upon later reflection,
when she heard Stan and his friend come home. The small apartment they shared
had very few luxuries, but one of them was a huge walk-in closet in the master
bedroom. She was inside it, in the middle of folding a shirt when the sounds
of the front door closing reached her. Ordinarily she would have gone out to
greet him, but she wanted to finish the shirt. She had folded the shirt and
was about to leave the closet when she heard Stan's voice, softly. "I wonder
if she's home," he said to whoever was with him. Sharon was on the verge of
speaking up, but some strange impulse made her hold her silence. Moments later
she heard a female voice reply with a slight giggle, "I hope not..." The sound
of a kiss followed. Sharon felt a dull but strong ache settle in her guts. She
could not decide between crashing their party and seeing just what they had in
mind. She stood motionless, while she tried to sort out the melange of
emotions which washed through her, until she heard Stan call out. "Sharon?
It's me! Are you home?" With no decision to do so, Sharon strode quickly
forward to the closet door, pulling it until it was almost closed. She reached
up to the chain which controlled the ceiling light in the closet and tugged,
bringing darkness to cloak her. She maintained her silence. Stan repeated his
question. "Anyone home?" When a few more seconds of silence elapsed, Stan's
friend seemed satisfied. "Great...we're alone. It still feels kind of weird,
coming here. But if you don't mind, I suppose I can deal with it. Mmmmmmmm"
More kissing sounds reached Sharon's ears. The hollowness in her stomach
deepened. A round of giggles ensued, followed by a female exclamation of
surprise. Seconds later the door between the bedroom and the living room swung
open, its handle knocking heedlessly against the closet door. Sharon stood
close to the crack which allowed her to view most of the bedroom, including
the queen-sized bed against the far wall to the left of the closet. Stan's
body filled the view. He was carrying a woman in his arms, her arms hanging
loosely around his neck. Sharon's view was excellent; the afternoon light
pouring in through the bedroom window provided an even, coldly white glow
throughout the room. Stan walked slowly to stand in front of the bed, where he
gently lowered the girl's legs until she could stand upright. Her arms never
relinquished their hold on his neck. She pulled him into a deep kiss once she
had found her footing. Despite Sharon's irrational expectation that he would
resist, he bent willingly to the embrace. Sharon's heart fell. After a while,
Stan pulled away from the kiss. Sharon wondered if he was having second
thoughts about his actions, but Stan stood back from the girl only to start
pulling at the sash around her waist. Sharon watched in amazed horror as the
blue silk strip uncoiled its knot and slid from the girl's waist. She couldn't
believe that Stan was doing this. She couldn't believe she was watching. When
the sash had fallen to the floor, Stan leaned forward and started unbuttoning
the girl's dress. One by one, starting from the top, Stan deftly slipped each
button through its eye, leaving a widening gap in the fabric behind his
progressing hands. Sharon felt the tension between Stan and the girl grow,
just as the tension within herself grew. Finally Stan reached the bottom
button, situated at about the girl's navel. He slid his right hand back
upwards, pushing the opening apart to run his hand over her skin. The girl's
eyes were locked on Stan's. When Stan reached her shoulders, he pushed outward
with both hands, slipping the dress from her shoulders. He accelerated the
slow slide of the dress from her torso by pulling downward on the sleeves. In
moments the girl's chest and stomach were exposed. She's not wearing a
bra...The slut! The thought came unbidden to Sharon. I can't believe this
bitch comes to *my* home with *my* man and comes without a bra! Without
conscious volition. Sharon started to remove her own blouse, her hands pulling
it over her neck. When it was removed, Sharon unfastened her bra, and dropped
it to the floor next to her blouse. Sharon watched silently as Stan pulled the
girl's dress from her hips, leaving her standing in just her panties. Sharon's
hands removed her own denim skirt moments later. Her hands were in almost
perfect synchronization in removing her panties while Stan finished undressing
the girl. Sharon stood naked, assessing her rival from her hidden vantage
point while Stan did so from his overt one. I can't believe he prefers her to
me, Sharon thought. Look at her! She's got bigger tits than I do, but they sag
more, and she pays for that size in extra fat all over her. Her ass is HUGE!
She's got pretty blonde hair, but Stan always said her preferred brunettes
like me...and he said he liked shorter hair like mine than...And I *know* he
likes blue eyes, but hers are brown or hazel or whatever they are. And her
lips are too full and her eyes are too small and her nose has that upturn,
and... And *I've got better legs!* While Sharon was surveying the girl's body
visually, Stan was doing it tactilely. His hands started by flanking her head,
caressing her cheeks. They slid back and then down her neck, to spread out
along the lines of her collarbones, and then gripped her shoulders gently.
They started downward and towards each other then, each coming to pass lightly
over a breast. When they were each centered on a breast, they started down in
unison, following the curve of the flesh until they met the torso, where each
hand cupped and slightly lifted a breast. The girl's eyes were closed, her
head tilted back slightly in rapture. Sharon's hands were not dormant, though.
Spontaneously they mirrored the motions of Stan's hands, following the same
path over her body. She felt her own collarbones traced, her own shoulders
gripped, her own breasts cupped and then lifted. Sharon felt the same
seductive surge in desire that the girl felt; she felt the same moisture and
heat build between her legs. Sharon *knew* what the other was experiencing. As
Stan passed over the girl's stomach, so Sharon passed over her own. For the
first time she became aware of a difference between them. Her rival's stomach
showed a small bulge of fat, where Sharon's did not. Sharon was very proud of
her athletically trim body, maintained by diet and exercise. What is his
problem, She thought. I've got a *much* better body. But still her hands
mimicked Stan's as they descended past the waist and headed toward the crotch.
The girl stood quietly with her hips swaying slightly from side to side while
Stan ran his fingertips over the skin between her pelvic bones. With each pass
of Stan's fingers, his hands dropped a little lower. When he reached the
girl's pubic hair, he dropped his left hand to his side and continued to play
with the hair. His fingers twined it around themselves and ran it between
themselves and teased it outwards. Sharon felt her own pubic hair twined and
tousled and teased. She watched with growing excitement and terror as Stan
turned his hand to press his palm against the girl's body and moved it
downward until his ring finger could part her lips. As his finger slid between
the girl's flesh, Sharon's flesh was pushed aside by hers. Stan pushed farther
down and then curled his finger upward slightly, sliding it into the girl.
Sharon let a small moan escape her lips, a distant echo of the sounds of
pleasure which the girl emitted. Sharon stifled her lips and let the girl make
sounds for both of them; continued secrecy was what would serve best. Stan
continued to probe the inside of the girl; Sharon felt herself being probed,
and once again lost herself in the illusion that she was the focus of Stan's
attention. Stan added a second finger to his efforts, and Sharon felt her
opening being forced a bit wider. She felt the grip of her muscles around his
fingers. She felt the extra wave of pleasure at accepting the additional
flesh, but the sighs that accompanied it came from the other side of the door.
She closed her eyes, slowly, lost in the gentle rhythm of the stimulation.
Sharon built her way towards orgasm under Stan's hands. "Don't stop..." came
the teasing, pleading whine of a female voice. Sharon's eyes opened with a
start. She saw that Stan had pulled his hand away from the girl and was
starting to undress itself. Sharon's hand pulled from inside her of its own
volition. The girl watched Stan in mute appreciation. For the first time since
Sharon had started watching the couple, she lost her sense of identity with
their actions; the girl had a different view than Sharon did. Sharon could see
only the back side of Stan. She could see only his hips and his butt as his
pants were pulled down his legs. She could not see his penis or his balls, nor
could she touch them, as the girl reached to do. Stan turned his hips slightly
to give the girl better access, and Sharon could finally see his penis, erect
and waiting for attention. Feelings of rage welled in Sharon's heart, as she
watched the girl caress Stan's dick, as she watched the girl kneel before him
and tease him with her tongue. She wanted to storm out into the room and
interrupt them while the girl drew one of Stan's testicles into her mouth. She
wanted to slap Stan across his face, wiping out the grin of ecstasy he always
wore while his balls were being licked. She looked at herself, though, and
knew she wouldn't. She knew that it would force Stan to make a choice. She
knew that she didn't want to gamble that he'd stay before she could talk to
him alone, before she could take him to bed and make him forget this intruder.
Sharon *knew* that Stan couldn't really prefer this girl; Stan had just
forgotten how great sex could be with the woman he already possessed. As
Sharon watched the tramp blow her man, she felt a deepening, intensifying
emotional pain. She wanted to have some physical way of understanding what was
occurring before her eyes, but there was no such option available to her. She
started to cry, silently, when Stan rested his hands lightly on the girl's
head and leaned his head back in the same manner that the girl had done
earlier. Tears surrendered to gravity's pull, running across her high
cheekbones to dangle ignored from her chin until their grip failed and they
dropped to the floor. A thought came to Sharon. Perhaps it would be possible
to drown out the terrible mental agony by introducing some physical pain. She
turned with some relief from watching the girl work on Stan and looked about
the closet in the dim light admitted by the slight opening of the door. She
saw mostly the things people usually cache in a closet: brooms and mops, a
vacuum cleaner, clothes in varied arrays of colors and shapes and sizes. Shoes
by the dozen lined the floor, books were piled in one corner, and boxes of all
dimensions rested on wire shelves which stood out from the wall, slightly
taller than Sharon herself. She looked silently, trying to imagine anything
she could do which would hurt but not make noise. Her eyes finally rested on a
row of skirts which were dangling from hangers. Each skirt was held in place
by two laundry pins. Some were wood, some plastic. She removed the pins from
several of the hangers, allowing the skirts to fall to the floor. When she
stopped she looked at the handful of clamps she held, and started testing them
for stiffness. The plastic ones were uniformly stiffer than the wooden ones.
Sharon walked back to her viewing spot to check on the progress of her two
performers. The girl was giving Stan what had to be the best blowjob of his
life. Sharon marvelled, admiring the depth to which the girl swallowed Stan's
dick. She seemed to be able to descend until her teeth hit his pubic bone.
Sharon resolved to start practicing as soon as she could. She watched intently
as the girl plunged and then disgorged, all the while her cheeks showing
inward bulges from suction. The skin of Stan's dick was left glistening with
moisture behind each withdrawal. The girl's eyes were always turned upward,
watching Stan's reactions and hoping to catch a glimpse of eye contact with
him. She radiated pleasure with what she was doing. Stan's soft moans and
sighs made his pleasure known in return. With some trepidation, Sharon
squeezed the first clothespin open, trying to decide where to put it for
maximum effect. She settled on a breast, pinching almost an inch of flesh from
the outside of her left breast in the device. Immediately she felt a dull
throb start from where she had placed it. She repeated the action on her right
breast, and then placed a third pin hanging down from the bottom of her right
breast. A fourth went in symmetric opposition. She had two plastic pins left,
so she placed one on each nipple. The last two hurt the most. The pain started
to build as the affected spots on her breasts began to send complaint messages
along her nerves. It was not enough. She watched the little bitch sucking
Stan's dick and still felt sexual desire coupled with emotional panic. Sharon
tried to think of ways to increase her physical pain, and turned back to the
interior of her small prison. She looked from item to item until her eyes lit
on a small cardboard box perched on the shelf above her, about four feet back
on the left side. It was Stan's hobby box, filled with random bits of
technical goodies. She inched her way to it, and gently lifted it from the
shelf before lowering it to the ground. There on top she found the perfect
item: the magnifying glass with the gripper hands that Stan used when he was
painting models or soldering electrical components. It took Sharon only
moments to unscrew and remove the alligator clips from the thing's two arms.
She knew intuitively where they would go. She returned to her vantage point
just in time to watch Stan come. He began to rock his hips back and forth
uncontrollably, thrusting his dick into the girl's mouth. She seemed
comfortable with his motions, withdrawing only slightly to avoid having Stan
smash her face with his hips. His hands slid down a bit to clasp either side
of her head. Sharon wondered if he would impede the girl's attempts to avoid a
bloody nose. Idly, Sharon wished that small torture on the girl. With a great
heave, Stan thrust his hips forward and pulled the girl's head toward him. She
cooperated, swallowing every bit of flesh she could manage.

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 Stan stood
quietly, but Sharon could see signs of his ecstasy in the way his arms bulged
and the blood vessels on his forearms stood out, pulsing. After a few seconds,
he released the girl, who withdrew from him slowly, teasingly, sucking the
last drops of semen from his dick as she pulled back. She retained her
kneeling position, although she transferred her weight back so that her knees
were bent and she rested her rear on her heels. She looked up at Stan with
supreme satisfaction. Sharon could wait no longer. She snatched the two
clothes pins from her nipples. She hardly noticed the slight lessening of pain
with their removal. She glanced down at the first of the alligator clips and
squeezed it open before she turned her attention back the the couple she had
been watching. Her right hand slowly made its way, unerring, to her right
breast, where the opened clip toyed with her nipple. Sharon kept her eyes
locked on the scene in the bedroom while the mouth of the alligator clip found
her nipple. She released her hold on the clip, as slowly as she could. As the
clip closed, the pain lanced through Sharon's breast as is someone were
burning her breasts with lighted cigarettes. She felt every millimeter of the
closing of the clip, convincing herself with each passing second that the pain
would stop increasing, that the clip would find its equilibrium. The pain
ramped up steadily until Sharon felt sure that the alligator would bite her
nipple completely free of her breast. When she finally let go of the clip
completely, the agony drove her eyes away from watching the events in the
bedroom. She turned to bury her head in a thick coat winter which hung by her
left shoulder. When her head was covered completely she opened the remaining
alligator clip and situated it to bite her other nipple. With one swift leap
of bold desire, Sharon released it entirely. She could maintain her total
silence no longer. She moaned deeply into the folds of cloth surrounding her
head, then hissed in agony. She tried to silence herself, but the rivers of
pain flowing from her chest were to mighty for her suppress the sounds of
their passage. She whimpered, wishing for a release from her torture.
Gradually the acuteness of the sensations ebbed, and Sharon was able to remove
her head from within the coat. She stood unsteadily, her balance undermined by
her physical distress. Feebly she raised herself back to her watching
position, where she found her vision slightly blurred. The scene in the other
room seemed brighter to her, but there were uncountable small sparkles
floating across her field of view. It was as if her pain had increased her
sensitivity to light until it, too, became a source of discomfort. Sharon
realized that perhaps this was what she had sought. She slowly took notice of
what was occurring on the bed. The girl was again on her knees, but this time
she was facing away from Stan, and away from Sharon. The view was of her
backside. Sharon initially thought that the couple were merely employing a
kneeling position, but upon more intent inspection, she saw that Stan was not
entering the girl's vagina; he was penetrating her anus! A wave of revulsion
swept through Sharon, making her shudder. This was her personal phobia, her
sexual nemesis. Stan knew that the very thought was unacceptable to Sharon,
and had long since stopped trying to convince her to try it. Sharon also knew
that he had some unusual fascination with the idea. The doubts slowly crept in
on her again. Maybe *this* was why Stan was doing this girl! Maybe this form
of contact was so important to him that he felt it necessary to seek elsewhere
for it! Sharon watched in fascination as Stan's dick slid slowly into the
girl's butt. A tight, narrow ring of bright pink flesh marked the depths of
his penetration into the girl. Sharon searched for signs of discomfort or pain
in the girl, but it seemed as if the girl didn't mind, or as if she actually
liked it. The blonde head turned slightly to smile at Stan. He responded with
some inaudible words of encouragement, and slid his hands briefly away from
his grip on her hips, to run them tenderly over the girl's shoulders. He
replaced them, and began again his steady, rhythmic thrusts into her. The
total travel of each thrust was not great, but with each one he seemed to sink
a little deeper into her. Panic raced through Sharon. Is this what it would
take to evict this little whore from our bed, she thought. Is this enough? She
wondered if she could bring herself to do it. Her mind began to seek ways to
condition herself to accept it. She finally imagined a way she might start;
she remembered that all of the necessary items were in the closet with her.
Sharon turned to start collecting what she wanted. Almost forgotten despite
the intensity of pain they provided, Sharon accidentally brushed one of the
alligator clips against the coat which had so recently been her solace. The
sharp burst of agony that erupted from her right breast knocked her to the
floor. She started an audible whimper, but quickly remembered her situation.
She choked it off while tears fountained anew from her eyes. She but her lip
to keep from crying out. A few words of conversation made it to her through
her veil of over-stimulation. A female voice asked, "What was that? It sounded
like someone in the other room!" Stan offered the girl reassurance. "No...We'd
have heard the door open, or for sure we would have heard it close. We're
still alone, sweetie." The girl sounded worried. "Still, I feel kinda weird
doing this with you here, you know? I mean, it's *her* bed, too! It just feels
wrong." Sharon bit back her vocal reply, subverting it to a mental one. Like
it isn't wrong for you to screw my guy somewhere else, you cunt? Good, I'm
glad you're worried. I hope it makes you frigid until you leave! Sharon's
wishes went unanswered by the gods. Stan's only reply to the girl's concerns
must have been physical, for the sounds of mutual pleasure resumed. Sharon
raised herself from her knees, and proceeded carefully to the back of the
closet, where she found what she was after: one of the brooms stored among a
small heap of cleaning supplies. She silently extracted it, feeling like she
was playing "pick up sticks." When it was free of the jumble she returned to
the front of the closet. She opened the top drawer of a small chest that sat
to her right as quietly as possible, just enough to get her hand in it. She
knew what she would find there; she and Stan had switched to AstroGlide
several months before, so the half-used tube of K-Y jelly had been relegated
to the closet. After fishing around for a few seconds, Sharon's fingers passed
over the tube, which she then removed from the drawer. She lowered herself
slowly to her knees, where she drew the broom handle between her legs to lie
on the floor beneath her. She looked up to verify that her view was not
obstructed, and discovered that only the vertical angle had changed. She was
satisfied. She lifted the end of the broom handle and looked it over. It was
smooth wood, about an inch in diameter, painted a cheery, bright blue. Sharon
didn't really feel cheery as she squeezed a dollop of K-Y into her right palm
and began to smear it over the broom handle. When she felt that the entire
surface of the wood was covered, she dropped the tube of jelly and pushed the
broom backwards. She bent to her hands and knees, supporting herself with her
left hand while she manipulated the broom with her right. When she felt the
pressure of the wood against her anus, she looked out the door again,
regaining her visual contact with Stan. She blew a silent kiss to him, and
pulled the broom handle towards her. The pressure she felt increased, but not
uncomfortably so, until she felt her muscles give in to it. She felt herself
open, and felt the tip of the wood sink into her. It was not nearly as
horrible as she had expected. She withdrew it slightly, and felt a strange
cooling sensation returned to her. She pulled again, and felt the shaft sink
inward once more, this time to a greater depth. She repeated the withdrawal
and reinsertion until she was comfortable with it, and began a steady
thrusting. She tried to take in a little more each time, but she had no idea
of how much material was actually entering her. She watched Stan again, and
watched the way the little pink ring surrounding his dick would roll inwards,
almost disappearing as he thrust in, and then would roll outwards, showing
itself clearly when he withdrew. She knew her own muscle was doing the same
thing. Soon she fell into synchronization with Stan, once again mimicking his
motions. She felt a strange buzz begin in her, as if there were some external
source of electrical current flowing through her. Unconsciously, her body
rocked back against the broom as her arm drew it forward. The clothespins on
her breast began to sway as well, twisting her flesh and reminding her that
they were there through small jolts of pain. The buzz grew stronger. Stan was
increasing the pace and urgency of his thrusts. Sharon knew he was close to
orgasm. She wondered about the girl, and herself as well. As Stan sped up, so
did Sharon. She watched with greater attention as Stan built. Earlier, the
girl had thrust her hips back against Stan, much as Sharon had done in her
hidden spot. But now, as Stan increased the violence with which he moved, the
girl seemed to try to draw her body away from him. Sharon drew great pleasure
from imagining that Stan was actually hurting the girl. Sharon watched the
final few thrusts of Stan's hips, knowing he was already over the edge, and
merely moving on momentum of action. The buzz in her ears displaced almost all
sounds as she watched Stan heave his hips forward while pulling back on the
girl's hips. Again his arms revealed the strength of his grasp. Sharon felt
her body surge backward and her arm pull forward with the same effort she saw
in Stan. Her vision faded as a sheet of impossible brilliance occluded her
view of the bedroom. She heard a great scream from somewhere, from a female
voice. She could not tell if was hers or the girl's. She could not decide
whether it was pain or pleasure that drove the throaty howl. She lost
consciousness. When Sharon recovered, she found herself supported on knees and
shoulders, still in the camouflaging darkness of the closet. Her breasts were
afire from the alligator clips. The broom handle still rested in her anus. She
drew herself up onto her left hand again, and reached to remove the broom with
her right. She felt it slide from her body easily. She enjoyed the feeling,
much to her surprise. She raised her torso upright, and then rested her weight
on heels, reaching for the clamps on her breasts. First she removed all of the
clothespins. Each brought an void of sensation that carried a new kind of
pain, one of absence. She found herself left with only the two metal alligator
clamps, and was almost afraid to remove them. She forced her right hand to her
left breast, and gingerly grasped the end of the clip between thumb and
forefinger. Squeezing released the pressure on her nipple, but it did not
release Sharon from her pain. A wave of dizziness passed over her, leaving a
sharp tingling emanating from her nipple, much like the tingling from trying
to wake up a sleeping limb. She drew her hand to her right nipple, terrorized
by the first removal. Squeezing again released the pressure. The last source
of continuing pain was removed from her body, and Sharon was left with nothing
but the glowing reminder of what had been. The dizziness descended upon her
again and she felt various muscles across her abdomen contract. She wondered
if she could drive herself to another, different, orgasm this way. She
remained in her position for a few moments, savoring the strange pleasure to
which her pain had driven her. Slowly, unsteadily, she got to her feet and
looked out the door. Stan was lying in the bed on his back, looking upwards
toward the foot of the bed. He was saying something that Sharon could not
hear. He stopped speaking, and Sharon leaned a little closer to the door,
straining to hear whatever was said in reply. "Stan, ummm...look. I don't
think we should see each other for a while, OK?" "Why not?" He sounded angry,
but perhaps a little relieved. Sharon couldn't decide whether that was wishful
thinking on her part or not. "Today was kind of too much for me, you know? I
mean, I really got freaked out by doing it here, towards the end. I don't know
if I want to sneak around anymore. I also don't think I want to take it that
way again." "You mean from behind?" "Yeah." Sharon could hear the discomfort
in the girl's voice. "Why not?" "I know you didn't mean to, but you lost
control at the end, and it *hurt!* It was OK before then, but....Next time you
might really hurt me!" Ahaaaa, Sharon thought. So that was *her* scream I
heard back there. I guess they would have found me if had been mine... "I'm
sorry...I...." "I know. Look, I think it would be easier this way. I really
like you, but..." "Hey...can I call you sometime?" "I don't know. Like I said,
I don't want to sneak around any more." Resolve strengthened in the girl's
voice. "Stan, if you're willing to leave her, then maybe you can call. Just
don't expect me to keep running around like this. I mean...Does she even know
I exist?" "No. I don't think so." "I didn't think so, either. Look, it's not
fair to anyone. Everyone loses, except maybe you. If you really want me,
you're going to have to make a decision. If not...well...it's been great,
Stan." A quiet rustling ensued, and Sharon saw the girl, dressed again in her
white dress and the blue sash. She leaned over Stan's reclined form, and
kissed him briefly on his right cheek. Stan reached up to embrace her, but she
nimbly stepped away. Stan's eyes were locked on her as she left the room. "See
ya'," she said as she passed the closet door. Moments later, Sharon heard the
front door open and then shut. Stan turned on his side, facing towards
Sharon's hideout, and closed his eyes. A short time later, Sharon heard the
deep rhythms of sleep in his breathing. As Sharon stepped from her hidden
vantage point, she regarded Stan's sleeping form. She thought over Stan's last
exchange with the girl. You'll never get him back, bitch. He's mine again, and
I know I can keep him this time. Sharon walked towards the kitchen to get
herself a glass of iced tea. The question is, she pondered as she walked, do I
still want him? 

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